


Why are you like this?

by Lady_Redhaired



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, NSFW, One Shot, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8010031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Redhaired/pseuds/Lady_Redhaired





	Why are you like this?

_‘You can always trust a son of a bitch, because he’s sure to never change.’_

His father used to say this to him a lot.

Rafe Adler had found this little quote to be very true. You can always trust your enemies, only your friends can disappoint you. Back stab you.

Rafe Adler had no friends. Only clients.

And so he had not been disappointed when the deal had gone wrong, and the situation had turned sour and hectic. There was no surprise to be found in his eyes.

Shots had been fired, and punches had been thrown. At his face. At his stomach. At his sides. But he’d done a great deal of punching too. His mind recalled as he walked down the damp streets, his Allen Edmonds shoes wastefully stained with blood and now muddy water as he stepped into a puddle on his stumbling stroll.

He remembered someone twisting his wrist to make him drop his colt. And he could feel that he’d sprained it. Yet, that had not stopped him from punching the unknown man in return, and then again. And again. He recalled being on top of him, his knuckles colliding time after time against the guy’s face.

Then there was a bigger bodyguard. The one that had kicked him in the face under his boss’ command. Kicked him. In the face.

That was insulting.

Rafe Adler needed his face. For business. He was aware of the effect his smile had on people. Or how his high cheekbones made women weak in the knees. Or the way his eyes, two-coloured rings of ice blue and dark brown, made people forget about what they intended to say mid-way through a conversation if only he stared intently enough.

He liked his face.

And so he’d spent a good five minutes curb stomping the big guy’s face in return. Until he heard bones crack and give in under the sole of his shoe.

Before he knew, he was standing in front of the door to the hotel room, a hand placed on the door frame and the other one gripping tight on his side, where a stinging pain still remained.

His fingers felt their way down the frame and then he knocked hard on the door a couple of times. But there was no answer.

So he knocked again. And waited.

It took him a good five minutes to notice his eyelids had been closed for a while, and his eyes flickered open, jaw clenching gradually.

Spouting a curse he rummaged around the pockets of his trousers, and then the ones on the inside of his jacket, finally finding the keycard and sliding it through the reader to open the door.

It was dark inside, all lights were off. It must’ve been rather late at night.

Rafe stripped of his jacket, quite roughly at first due to the bitter anger running through his veins, but soon enough every bone and muscle in his body whined at the lack of gentleness and he slowed down abruptly with a strangled sound of pain.

“Son of a…” He whined in a muted voice, shutting his eyes for a second while he removed the jacket completely with careful hands now, and left it on the back of the big couch in the room with a long sigh.

Still feeling the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, he made his way through the dim lighted room, guided by nothing but the moonlight that peeked in through the blinds of the tall windows, and opened the cabinet where he kept his bottles of scotch and brandy.

Rafe pulled one out, and examined it in critical silence despite the ringing pain in his head, finally determining he needn’t a glass this time. Straight out of the bottle it would be, then.

As he was about to take the first sip, the light from the lamp sitting by the sofa was flicked on, making his hand stop halfway through raising the bottle.

His eyes did not meet yours just yet, not needing to look at you to feel your stare burning on the back of his neck.

“I thought you were sleeping.” Rafe stated, but you didn’t answer just yet, so he continued. “You didn’t open the door.”

“I didn’t open the door because I couldn’t be bothered.” You responded sharply, your fingers slowly retreating from the switch on the lamp beside you. You were still wearing your nighties, and a lovely silk robe wrapped around your body in a beautiful pearl white colour.

Rafe scoffed at your words, a gesture that came out in the form of a short, sour laugh.

“Well thank you. It would’ve only made my life a bit easier if you had.”

“It would’ve made your life easier not to go to that meet up in the first place.” You immediately reproached him. “Like I’ve been warning you for the past week.”

Your eyes traveled up and down his figure. Bruised knuckles and cheekbones. Bleeding nose and a cut on his left eyebrow. And the stains of blood on his lips.

He looked rough. To say the least.

Rafe repressed a groan of irritation, going back to taking a swig from the bottle of scotch he was holding. He found people reproaching his mistakes extremely vexing.

“Why is it-” He began to say, turning around slowly to walk over to you. His shoes were still wet, leaving dark and damp stains on the carpet. “-that you love saying _‘I told you so’_ so very much?” You watched his eyebrows raise as he looked down at you know. “I’m curious. Does it make you feel superior in some way?”

There was an inherent, poorly hidden hint of poison in Rafe’s words, and you already knew what was coming.

“I don’t have time for your spoiled brat bullshit tonight, Rafe.” You decided to respond, in an attempt to cut deep enough that he would end the conversation there. Because you knew that he was trying to pick a fight with you now. It was a bad habit of his.

And you knew how that always ended too.

You saw the pupils shrink in his eyes. As beautiful as they were, they were now stained with spite. And you were expecting a hurtful comment as you turned your back on him to walk back into your room, when you felt his hand tighten around your wrist and pull from you harshly.

His other hand ended on your chest, right on top of your collarbones, thumb and index finger brushing against your neck as he pushed you back until you felt your shoulder blades  hit the wall. But he didn’t utter a word, his comeback lost forever as he chose to collide his lips with yours instead. And the kiss was rushed, sloppy, and stained by acrimony. You could hear him groan against your mouth, in pleasure mixed with anger, his body was pressed against yours so tightly it was more a statement to keep you in place than it was a need for proximity.

You freed your hand from the grasp of his, and the hand that had been on your wrist traveled to your hips, holding tight. Your hands pushed on his chest lightly, a poor attempt to keep him at bay because you reluctantly adored his touch, and his taste. Even if it was blood mixed with the sharp hints of alcohol. But your pride still urged you to make a statement of your own and that’s what your hands pushing on him meant, even if they soon enough ended up tangled up in his hair. You pulled hard this time, enough that he hissed at you for a second, his lips parting from yours while your foreheads met instead, pressed against one another.

 _“Why are you like this?”_ You almost snarled at him in a complaining whisper, eyes narrowing.

But Rafe never answered. Seemingly not minding the pull of your fingers on his hair now, he brought his lips back to yours once more. Your tongues met this time, first but a touch, and then tangled in a wet, warm dance.

Before you knew, he’d already picked you up, and you noticed he groaned in slight pain when doing so, but still the pain of a bruised body did not stop him. He must’ve been hurting worse than you thought. 

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you allowed him to carry you to the couch, and you felt the weight of his body through closed eyes as he laid on top of you, holding himself up just enough that he wouldn’t crush you.

You were mad at yourself. Fuming, really. He had this ability to have his way with everyone. Every time. And you were no exception.

It was exceptionally hard for you to deny anything to Rafe Adler. The man was a delicacy. Impossible to refuse even when he was beaten down to a shadow of who he usually was. Even when he lacked his habitual elegance. Even when his hair was messy, and his hands were rough and his lips were needy and demanding.

And were now trailing down your neck.

You sighed, bothered. You couldn’t even keep a trail of thought now, as it seemed. Rafe’s tongue brushed against the skin on the nape of your neck, as if to steal a taste before he sunk his teeth on the sensitive area. Your eyes closed, and your teeth trapped your bottom lip at the feeling, biting down with a groan, fingers clawing at his back over the fabric of his expensive shirt.

“I asked you a question.” You uttered, managing to sound somewhat firm even through your ragged breaths. You weren’t giving up so easily. Not this time.

Because you were tired.

Not of him, mind you. By God you knew you could never tire of him. Somehow you loved the man with all your bleeding heart, and could never stop doing so. But of his behaviour. Not because it was problematic for others, but because it was for him. Not because it got others hurt, or in danger. But because it did get _him_ hurt. Or in danger.

You were tired of seeing him battered, and bruised. Anxious, and sleepless. Angry and frustrated. Blind with rage. Or ambition. Or whatever it was that took over his mind that day, for the next day it could be something else entirely.

You were tired of seeing him tired.

His hand felt its way up your thigh and under your gown, and then your nightie, fingertips burning on your skin, gripping hard, downright possessive.

“Are you listening to me?” You breathed out, head starting to swivel from the way Rafe kept sucking on your neck, leaving marks on your skin, as if he were starved for your taste. Your heart was racing, pulse pounding against your temples harder and faster every time you felt his hips thrust slowly against yours. Even through the layers of clothes you could feel the hardness in his trousers, pressed against your core in just the right way. It was hard not to moan at the way he would groan every time he pushed against you.

“For a rich kid I expected you to have better manners…” You mumbled this time, almost gasping for air. It was rapturous to have him so close. Your mind could barely function. Even after an evening like the one he’d had, you could still smell the hints of expensive cologne on his neck. He was laying a trail of kisses down your neck and towards your chest now, and you could feel the graze of his stubble against your skin as he went. You wanted to hate him for being so fucking delightful.

“Fine.” The complaint came out of your throat in the form of a light growl, a whisper in his ear. “Have it your way.” Rafe breathed against your chest, right above the valley of your breasts. You could feel the loose strands of hair that dangled from his forehead tickle your skin softly. “You _are_ used to having everything handed to you without having to move a finger to earn it, after all.”

And then it was instant. Rafe froze in place for a split second, before pulling himself away from you and pushing your legs aside. He stood up, an irritated sound leaving his throat, and turned around so that it was his back the one facing your way. But still, you could see him run his hands down his face slowly, to then make his palms meet, with the tips of his fingers pressed against his lips.

You seized that moment to pull yourself together, regaining some of your rational thinking. Your hands pulled on your silk robe, wrapping it back around your body to then push yourself back up and on your feet.

There was a long silence, that hung over your heads for a moment as you stood a bunch of feet away from each other. And it was only after your heart had heeded your command to still itself, and your breathing had gone back to normal that you decided to speak once more.

“You ought to do something with that attitude of yours.” Your eyes were glued to Rafe’s back. And you could see that he could feel it on the way his shoulders remained stiff, and his whole body seemed tense. “If you keep going like this, it’s going to get you killed.” You made a brief pause, folding your arms as you allowed him to defend himself, to say something. Anything. But once again you got nothing but silence. “Some of us would rather have you alive, Rafe.” You finally added, all anger and criticism now gone from your voice, and leaving nothing but an undertone of deep worry. And love. Seeping through without you being able to stop it. “Some of us care.” Frowning, you corrected yourself. “I care. And it hurts.”

Your fingers flicked the switch on the lamp off, drowning the room in darkness once more, as it was before you’d walked in. And you retreated back into your room with serene steps.

Back into bed, you’d spent a long while staring blankly at the ceiling, still feeling the warmth from Rafe’s body on yours. Still feeling the marks he’d left on you. And the touch of his hands. And the tingle of his breath against your skin.

As you decided to close your eyes and roll over to your side to try and finally catch some sleep, the door opened in front of you. Slowly. An almost sheepish motion. And even in the pitch black room you could see Rafe’s silhouette approach you with lazy steps. Tired steps. Weak steps.

He stopped by the side of your bed, and sat down on the carpeted floor, his back against the side of the mattress.

Your eyes followed the profile of his face. Such exquisite features. 

Pulling a hand out from under the covers, you run your fingers through his hair with parsimony.

“Come lay in bed, love.” You said in a whisper, an offer full of tenderness that prompted his eyes to look for yours in the darkness, as if to make sure he truly had your permission.

Moving a bit to the side, you watched him rid of his shoes and get back up to then slump next to you, earning himself a creaking whine from the mattress underneath him.

Wrapping an arm around his waist you pulled yourself closer to him, until your chest met his back. You felt his hand look for yours blindly around his abdomen, and then lace your fingers with his once he’d found them.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice reached you as little more than a faint murmur, a weak and pained thread of sound that could’ve been so easily broken. You inched closer and nuzzled the back of his neck, feeling the tip of your nose brush against the short hair there, softly. The sensation sent a wave of warmth throughout your body for some reason.

“I know.” When you answered, your lips made sure to press a couple of loving kisses on his skin first, and Rafe sighed at the feeling, a calm and thankful sound. Safe enough between your arms, at last.


End file.
